


To Understand, and Be Understood

by mattzerella_sticks



Series: Season 13 Inspired [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 13x14, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Cute, Coda, Cuddling, Dean and Sam fight, Dean strikes Sam, Dean's messed-up childhood, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Love Confessions, M/M, Not seeing eye to eye, Sam strikes dirty, self-sacrificing idiots, talk about being a soldier, that mixtape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-02
Updated: 2018-03-02
Packaged: 2019-03-25 23:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13845126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mattzerella_sticks/pseuds/mattzerella_sticks
Summary: After making sure Donatello is okay, Sam and Dean have a discussion about Cas's actions. They don't agree, and Sam hits below the belt in his frustration. Dean just understands what it means to be a soldier. But as Dean and Cas talk after Sam storms out, he realizes that there is much more he and Cas share, and gets the angel a bit more.





	To Understand, and Be Understood

**Author's Note:**

> What an episode - it was so good. It might have been Jensen's birthday but I feel like we got the best presents.

            “I don’t know Sam, what do you _want_ me to say?”

            Sam rolls his eyes, huffing under his breath as he leans against the war table. He had pulled Dean to the side once Castiel stepped out of the room. The angel didn’t look back after saying his piece, telling the brothers he’d start with research, and they would be free to join him once they’ve come to terms with his actions. Castiel didn’t ask for forgiveness or acceptance. So Dean stares at Sam, at a loss for what he wants from him.

            “Maybe I don’t want you to say something,” Sam starts, running a hand through his hair, “Maybe I’m just expecting you to be more… angry.”

            “I’m angry Sam, trust me,” Dean tells him, crossing his arms. He was. He still is. Dean’s mind replays the image of Donatello, strapped to all those machines, and Cas’s words carry over the beeping and the whirring. He couldn’t believe Cas would do something like this – he was the patron saint of lost causes. How could Donatello be so far past saving when Dean himself has crossed that line more times than he can count, and Castiel was always there helping pull him back to solid ground.

            “But you’re not _angry_ -“

            “Christ, Sam what are you expecting I do?” Dean cuts him off, “Should I throw a tantrum? Go find Cas and sock him in the jaw? Down half a bottle of Jack –“

            “No, Dean, I – I don’t know!” Sam says, “I just… you’re taking this way too calmly. What Cas did –“

            “What Cas did was impulsive, I will say that” Dean defends his angel, “But this isn’t some regular ol’ salt and burn. This is war, Sam – we’re working against a clock. And from what I see, we’re the side that needs to start catching up to the others.”

            “Catching up?” Sam barks out a laugh, “Dean, the reason our ‘side’ is different from everyone else’s is because we _care_ about what happens to everyone else. Lucifer, Michael – they’ll raze the Earth without a second thought to who they hurt or who they lose. If we start treating our _friends_ like they’re disposable, then we’ll be no better then them!”

            “Disposable?” Dean frowns, “That’s what you think this is about?”

            “I’m not seeing how it isn’t –“

            “Because you don’t get it, Sam,” Dean says, “You’re not thinking about this from Cas’s point of view.”

            “As what? An angel?”

            “No, a _soldier_.”

            Sam’s jaw tightens, and his mouth presses into a firm line. Dean powers on.

            “Cas had to make a tough call, but one he’s probably had to make a whole bunch of times,” he says, “He’s been through countless battles, led his own army – he probably understands the weight of what he did better than either of us could begin to imagine. And he’s goin’ to live knowing what he did to Donatello, because that’s who Cas is. He wasn’t treating Donatello as if he were ‘disposable’, he was… protecting people from what he had become.”

            “So that’s what you think?” Sam glares at him, “You think you get his soldier crap?”  
            “Better than you could,” Dean says, “I was raised to be a soldier. I made sure you _weren’t_.”

            It still stings, acknowledging how different Sam’s childhood had been to Dean’s. He’s a little upset, that Sam’s ignorance is driving a wedge between them now, but his gladness at Sam never having to grow up like Dean outweighs his annoyance. Sam got to grow up and be a kid, playing with others and smiling. Dean never had that. When everyone else was learning the different bones and muscles of the human body, he was learning how to disassemble and reassemble a gun. When his classmates were reading comics, Dean was going over blueprints. He was a parent to Sam, and a soldier to his father.

            If anyone could fathom Castiel’s actions, it would be him.

            “So, come on,” Dean says, throat scratchy, pushing his past back down, “Let’s go help Cas.”

            He’s almost at the door when he hears Sam’s chuckle. It’s unlike his normal laughter. Whereas Sam usually sounds like wind chimes, this has all the appeal of broken glass grinding up against each other.

            “Sure, Dean, we’ll go to Cas,” Sam starts, “I mean, that’s the real reason you’re not as upset, isn’t it?”

            Dean looks over his shoulder. Sam is frowning, his body rigid. He’s flexing his jaw, as if he’s fighting the words that are threatening to spill out. But his glare lets Dean know that whatever he says next, he’ll mean.

            “What are you talking about?”

            “I’m just saying... of course you wouldn’t be that mad with Cas,” Sam continues, never breaking from Dean’s gaze, “You’re too in love with him.”

            A _whoosh_ of air leaves Dean’s mouth, and he’s practically gaping at Sam. The younger Winchester stands taller, more confident in his decision. Dean sags against the doorjamb.

            “W-what…?”

            “You love him,” Sam says, slowly, “It’s actually kind of sad at this point. You’ve known him for – what, ten years? And you still haven’t said anything?”

            “I,” Dean swallows, “I don’t know what you’re –“

            “Stop it, Dean,” Sam growls, “I’m sick of it. You love him – who cares? I don’t care that you love an angel in a guy’s body. I care that you’re letting your feelings mess with your head.”

            “My feelings,” Dean scoffs, “I thought you said our main difference from Douche Angel One and Douche Angel Two was _because_ we cared –“

            “About the fate of the world,” Sam says, “Not about what one person thinks of you.”

            Dean feels the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wants to say something, anything, but there’s nothing but bile building up in his throat. His knees are wobbling, and his vision tunnels. Sam doesn’t stop.

            “You’re letting Cas do what he wants because you’re scared,” Sam continues, “Scared that if you say no, that if you contradict him the tiniest bit, that he’ll leave. Scared that if he’s out of your sight for even the slightest of seconds, he’ll be gone, and you’ll just blame yourself all over again – am I hitting the nail on the head, Dean?”

            “You…”

            “You didn’t care about Jack until Cas was back. You didn’t even consider saving Mom until Cas was back. You’re okay with Donatello being dead in practically every way but name because _Cas_ was the one who pulled the _trigger_ –“

            When Dean comes back to himself, he sees Sam staring up at him, hand over his nose. There’s blood leaking out from between his fingertips, and he’s blinking at Dean in fear before slipping back to a mask of annoyed indifference.

            “Sam…” he tries to help him up. Sam waves him off.

            “Whatever,” Sam says, walking away, “I need some air.” The bunker door slams heavy and loud, ringing above the white noise buzzing in Dean’s ears. He stumbles back into the war table, collapsing against it. He lets his head drop to his chest, kneading at the pressure building up behind his eyes.

            Sam might have been joking about the nail, but it sits there – pierced right through his heart. He is scared. Cas is a rubber band pulled way too far back. He struck today, but at least Dean was there to pull him back home. Keep him where he belongs, where he’s needed.

            Every day, his heart stops when he thinks Cas might have left to chase after Lucifer again. But it starts again when he walks into the kitchen, seeing Cas sipping on coffee, Dean’s mug next to the pot where Cas left it for him.

            He’s way too far gone to function without him, and way too in the closet to do anything about it.

            But screw Sam for thinking that’s all this is about. He cares about Jack, about Mom. He knows that getting angry with Cas would do nothing to help it though, only splinter their family further apart. When they get those two back in their universe, Dean wants Sam and Cas at his side to greet them.

            He doesn’t want to choose.

            “Dean?”

            The older Winchester wipes at his eyes, looking towards the door where Cas is standing. He’s got a book in hand, but it’s forgotten by the way Cas is tilting his head at him.

            “Hey Cas,” Dean tries to hold his thoughts back, but his voice is still too rough, too watery, “Find anything?”

            “I might have,” he starts, walking towards him. He looks around, “Where is Sam?”

            “Out.”

            “Did he say where?”

            “He said a lot of things,” Dean chuckles darkly, “But not that.”

            “I see.”

            Cas closes the book in his hands, fingers scratching at the leather, searching for something. Dean is willing the flush of his cheeks down, and curses when the sniffle he’s trying to hide comes out too loud.

            “You too fought.” An observation.

            Dean nods, not trusting his voice anymore.

            “About me?”

            Dean can’t do anything. Cas hums, Dean’s silence saying more than he needs.

            “I see…” He places the book down, peeling his hand away and towards his side. “I’m sorry my actions have caused a rift to form,” Cas can’t look at Dean. He turns, “I – I think I know where we can find the first item… I’ll be gone as soon as I’m ready –“

            “What?”

            Cas looks back at him. Dean knows he must look completely wrecked; the tears he was fighting against were startled free. His throat is tight; barely any air can pass through.

            “I… I just meant,” Cas for once seems at a loss for words, “I know that what I did would not be taken lightly. I had just hoped… no, it doesn’t matter.” His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “I can do what I can on the road for as long as you need me –“

            “What did you hope?” Dean asks.

            Cas looks at him, a light blush dusting his cheeks. “Like I said,” he continues, “It doesn’t matter, from what I read –“

            “Tell me Cas,” Dean whispers, “…Please.”

            Dean can see how Cas is warring with himself. The surety and confidence he held from earlier is gone, eyes downcast and shoulders loose. Dean knows that the battlefield is something Cas just gets: it’s straightforward and you can lose yourself in the action. You don’t have to think about anything but the next strike. But feelings… how can you talk about something you can’t punch, kick, or stab.

            It’s why Dean rarely talks about them himself.

            “I had hoped,” he says, quietly, “that you would have understood me.”

            “I do, Cas,” Dean slips forward, walking on shaky legs to Cas, “Believe me, I get it.”

            “But Sam does not,” Cas sighs, pulling away, “And where Sam goes, you follow.”

            “Cas –“

            “I don’t want to hurt you two anymore than I have,” he continues, “I stand by what I have done, and I hope that this doesn’t impede our chances of winning. I might sound like a broken record but… we’re at war. And I’m okay making the hard choices if someone needs to make them. I’ll always be here to make sure you don’t have to face anymore pain.”

            “Then don’t leave.”

            Cas startles, “W-what?”

            “Don’t leave,” Dean continues, “You want me to not hurt? Easy… stay.” He reaches for Cas’s hand, freezing inches away from it, fingers brushing against fingers. He pulls up, grabbing at his wrist instead. “Sam is throwing a tantrum now… whatever, he can deal with it. I might not like what happened, but sometimes what is the best decision isn’t always the happiest.”

            ‘ _Like me and you_ …’

            Cas’s jaw twitches, and something flashes behind his eyes before he looks away. Now Dean tilts his head, squeezing Cas’s wrist again.

            “What is it?”

            “I… you are so kind, Dean,” Cas says, voice low and rumbling, “I am honored to call you mi… my friend,” he frowns, “But I will admit, to you as I have done myself, that the motivation behind my actions were not purely strategic.”

            Dean raises a brow, “Then what were they?”

            “On the video, Sam might not have noticed at first, but I did,” he looks at Dean, eyes wide, “You were shaking. I couldn’t tell what had happened, but seeing Sam rush to your side caused me to jump into action as well. When you were fine… I turned to see Donatello. He was looking back with such – such _glee_. He was exhilarated, laughing at us, laughing at – at _me_.” Cas looks away again, “I couldn’t protect Jack. I couldn’t protect _you_. I’m an angel, I’ve been around for millennia, with near-limitless powers at my fingertips, and I couldn’t even beat a man made of _sand_. I want to protect the ones I love.” His voice is at a near whisper, “I want to protect _you_.”

            Cas’s confession ripples through Dean’s body, sending shocks up from his spine to the tips of his nerves. Like a sheet being pulled from over his eyes, Dean _truly_ sees Cas.

            He’s not an angel.

            He’s not a soldier.

            He’s a man who holds himself at a distance, because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it.

            They’re more alike then he thought.

            “Cas,” Dean breathes, smiling, “You… you protect me in ways you don’t even know.” He lets his hand slip down, tangling his fingers with Cas’s, tugging his hand until Cas looks up, “I don’t want someone to fight my battles for me. To throw himself into conflicts because he thinks he needs to prove something. Or who thinks that they always need to be away on a mission to be useful. I need someone to stand at my side, as we fight our battles together.” He thinks back to earlier, how easy Cas and him moved together, fighting against the loin-clothed men. “I need someone who will listen and just… get me. I need someone who can hold me, and keep me up when all I want to do is fall.” He moves into Cas’s space, head dizzy with adrenaline. “I need you, Cas. S’why Jack brought you back. Not to fulfill some promise, or prepare for some war. Because I couldn’t handle losing you when I was so close… so close to…”

            “So close to what, Dean?” Cas asks, leaning into Dean, mirroring his actions. Dean’s eyes dart down, licking his lips.

            “To this.”

            It’s chaste, probably all Dean can handle after today. Cas doesn’t push, his eyes fluttering shut, sighing as Dean pulls away. Dean lifts his other hand up to cup Cas’s face, petting his cheek with his thumb.

            “I’ve been wanting that for so long,” Dean chuckles, “On my bad days, I figured you were just too good for me, and I would only bring you down.”

            Cas laughs along with him. “And on your good days?”

            “That being your friend should be enough,” Dean admits, “Even if it wasn’t anymore.”

            “I would ask if maybe you developed to read minds at some point, Dean.”

            “Why’s that?”

            “Because you took the thought straight from my head.”

            “At least you aren’t brain dead,” Dean barks a laugh, only to choke off and curse. He knocks his head against Cas’s shoulder. “I’m a horrible person. It’s too soon.”

            “I really am sorry,” Cas sighs, running a hand through Dean’s hair, “I wish I could have done something. You know –“

            “Yeah, I know.” Dean hums in contentment, focusing on the way Cas’s hands glide through his locks, the warmth of his palms seeping into his head. It’s hypnotic, and he relaxes soon enough. The day catches up to him, and he can feel his eyes fluttering shut.

            “You should get some rest.”

            “But, Sam –“

            “Will return when he is ready,” Cas tells him, “And I will talk to him, then. I stand by what I said earlier, I don’t want anything I do to fracture your relationship with your brother.”

            “You’re too good, Cas,” Dean murmurs into his shoulder, “But I’d feel awful if I just went to sleep now.”

            “Then why don’t we take a seat,” Cas suggests, guiding Dean towards a nearby couch, “And whatever happens happens.” Cas pulls them down, letting Dean fall back onto his chest. He keeps petting Dean’s hair, humming a soft melody into his crown.

            “Is that –“

            “From your mix tape?” Cas chuckles, “This was one of my favorite songs. I… really liked the message.”

            “I thought you would,” Dean says, tapping his foot against Cas’s as he continues humming _Thank You_ into Dean’s head. It gets harder for Dean to stay awake, and soon enough he slips into unconsciousness – the easiest he’s been able to in months. Cas’s warmth is better than any mattress he’s ever slept on. It doesn’t cushion his body, but also his mind. Takes all the fear and worry about Michael, Lucifer, Jack, Mom, and Sammy and changes it into hope. That everything will be all right in the morning.

            He clings to that as tight as Cas’s hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Did ya like? Let me know!


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